Please keep your fiction to yourself, or
go public and charge for it. Don’t send it to me looking for approval. I am no arbiter
of taste. As my music collection clearly attests.

See
if your work sells, instead. Fee-paying readers are no judges of taste either –
but it’s in their hands that the money lies…

Now look forcurmudgeonin the dictionary. Did you find me there, or
elbow me out of the way to claim that seat yourself?

I
don’t make these comments to alienate fans, but to provide a basic health-warning
against time and energy being expended on avoidable litigation. Avoid the need to
litigate. Instead, create.

ABOUT ME.

Yes, yes. It’s all about me, isn’t it. Why
isn’t it all about you? After all, you don’t care about me. I care about you. You
are the ones who flirt with fiction and buy my books.

I’m
just some random scribbler, to you. The dealer, dishing out your fiction fix.

All you want is to curl up with a book of a cold
winter’s night, and while the hours away turning page after digital page in search
of diversion from the mundane existence which has come to trap us in lives not of
our own making in this the (insert numerical description) century.

Whereas
all I want to do is write shorter sentences.

Well, I suppose Icouldsay a few words. I was born at an early point.
You may argue over Triassic, Jurassic, or Cretaceous.

The
writing bug bit me, laid eggs, and scuttled off to infect the world. A world which
is destined to be consumed by our own flaming star. I think that pretty much covers
it.